


Nitrogen Pink

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Elementary School, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post Season 21
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Heidi Turner asks for forgiveness from the Sparkle Committee of popular girls.They are not impressed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Named after the Polly Scattergood song.

“If it sparkles and shines with the group I'd like to vote on Heidi Turner's return.” Wendy's hair looked nice. It always did. 

“Sunshine!”

“Sparkle!” 

“All in favor?” 

The room was silent. 

“Against?” Wendy shot a smirk in my direction. A chorus of 'sunshine, sparkle' echoed around the room. “Sorry, Heidi,” she wasn't, stupid bitch, “you're just not a good fit anymore.” 

“Yeah, you're the reason they canceled the Special Ed Science Fair,” Bebe, stick thin, perfect skin, Bebe added. 

“I said I was sorry,” I mumbled, pulling on my hat. I did say it, whether I meant it or not was another story. I was supposed to feel sorry. I just felt angry.

And detached. 

“Don't paint yourself as the victim,” Red sneered. Her hair wasn't even naturally red; Bebe made her dye it when she thought there were too many blondes. It sparkled and shone with the group out of fear of retaliation. When Jenny Simmons voted against putting Clyde at the top of our list, she found three bloody tampons in her locker. Then she mysteriously sat in red paint. I saw Bebe whisper to Butters, then Butters yelled to the whole art class that Tammy got her period. I stopped her from trying to jump off the roof, again.

Not that it mattered now. “You drank Jimmy and Timmy's project,” Jenny added, looking past me. 

“You don't like me because I'm fat. That's pretty small minded of you, don't you think? I get that you are the skinny, pretty, popular hoes. You can still be that, just with one fat-ass.” 

“It's not because you're fat,” Wendy sighed, looking at her journal. She called it the meeting notes, but it was a purple kitten spiral notebook. She was always so pretentious. 

“It's because you're mean,” Theresa sniffled. “You really hurt my feelings.” Who really gave a shit though? I knew Wendy and Bebe didn't give a fuck. They told me four months ago, before I quit toxic social media, that they thought she was a crybaby. I had defended her. 

My loyalty was apparently misplaced. 

“I'm sorry I said that your tiny house was a trailer. It's on wheels so it's obviously like an RV. You live at an RV park, happy?" She wasn't. She was sobbing into Wendy's shoulder. Theresa didn't know that Wendy and Bebe would make fun of her as soon as she turned her back. 

“You're just not a good fit for the group.” Nichole wasn't smiling with her eyes. She had lead a fucking seminar over the summer, that was mandatory attendance, about smizing. I knew that whore could smile with her whole damn face. We watched her do it for the better part of an hour. 

“Just let me into your stupid group. It's not like I have anywhere else to go.” 

“Frankly, that's not our problem.” Wendy jotted something down in the spiral that Bebe said was childish. Bebe told Wendy it was totally super cute. It was only allowed to be a bitch where people couldn't see you. 

“Yeah,” Bebe smiled, showing her perfectly straight teeth, “it's not like we gave Cartman the gun.” I went rigid. 

“We don't want any murders in our club,” Red shouted. 

“I didn't make him do anything! You can't control people.” I tried to defend myself to the pack of wild dogs that called themselves fourth grade girls. 

“Even though he was super gross, you can't just tell someone to kill themselves,” Lola came to Red's defense. Lola and Red were best friends, even though you weren't supposed to have best friends in this stupid clique. I had always followed the stupid rules, trying not to get to close to any one person.

So much for the fucking rules.

“All those in favor of Heidi Turner leaving?” Wendy had the decency not to smile. At least not while I was in the room. 

“Sunshine!”

“Sparkle!”


	2. Chapter 2

Class would have been okay, if it wasn't for the teachers hating me. Our thin and perky teacher, the dumb bitch, wouldn't even call on me when I rose my hand. 

“Who can tell me the capital of the country?” Easy. My hand shot up. I was the only one playing attention. The rest of the class chattered around me, flicking notes at each other and covertly sending texts. I could tell they were texting, so this woman who went to school for four years specifically to teach children should have had this figured out by now. 

Who am I kidding?

It clearly took her at least five years to get that degree, maybe even six. 

“Anybody?” My hand was still in the air. I wasn't waving it back and forth because I wasn't an immature child. “Wendy? Do you know the answer?” Of course Wendy know the damn answer. Everyone probably knew the answer, maybe not Timmy, but everyone else. 

“Her hand is up,” Wendy's voice sounded smug. She was so smug. She had so much charisma that she was allowed to run in two cliques. She ran the girls stupid little meetings and still was allowed to play superheroes.

Eric never let me play superheroes, not while he was alive. 

I could hear the noise as I sat in class, eyes faced towards the blackboard. Bang! Then a hot smell, followed by screaming. Eric was on the ground, surrounded by the group of people who had meet us when we brought back Garrison. A red pool of blood gathered around his head as an adult, someone tall with black hair, rushed to his side.

My parents had dragged me away, saying something that I couldn't really hear. 

“Okay, Heidi would you like to answer my question?” Skinny bitch teacher asked, waving her hand in front of my face. 

“No, I wouldn't! You can go to hell!” My voice was loud as I spoke to her. 

“Ms. Turner march down the hallway to see PC Principal right this instant.” If Eric were there he would have agreed with me. The class would have laughed. 

Instead his seat was empty, and there was a chilly silence as I wiggled out of the too small desk, trying to unwedge my stomach. I walked to the Principal's Office in silence.

Maybe Eric would have been the hall monitor and we would have eaten Beyond! Hershey's in the janitors closet, letting the crinkly paper fall to the ground and the chocolate melt in our fingers. 

I checked the janitors closet on the way, just in case this was a big prank he was playing. He was always such an asshole. He would fake his own suicide. 

He wasn't there. 

A TV in the waiting area of the office flashed the death toll of the Canadian-American war in a yellow ticker tape as I waited to be called in. The secretary didn't even say my name, just gesture to a red fabric seat across for a large door with a frosted glass window. 

“Heidi Turner?” The Principal's voice interrupted the lady showing pictures of what used to be Toronto. Fuck Canada. 

“Yeah, that's me.” I pushed up off of my seat, my knees temporarily buckling as my weight fell to my legs. He held the door open for me, his stupid sunglasses on his face inside in the buzzing florescent lights.

Maybe if I made him really angry, he would take them off. Three insensitive comments should do it. One about women, one about that stupid teacher, and one more about his dumbass, ex-vice principal girlfriend. 

Eric says he has a lazy eye. 

Eric said he has a lazy eye. 

Eric doesn't say anything anymore. 

“Now Heidi, what seems to be the problem. My assistant, not that she is any less than I am in any way, shape, or form, especially not because she is a woman, we are equals, like all human beings. My assistant, my equal assistant, says that your teacher sent a page about you acting out in class.” His stupid sunglasses were still on.

“Listen, no one sends pages anymore, this isn't the 1990s. They send emails. And I bet that skinny whore doesn't have enough power in her fingers to press the damn keys. Even if she did, she doesn't have the brain power to understand basic technology. She calls customer service from a land-line when her monitor turns off.” They were starting to slip down his honking nose as he frowned.

It was his fault he didn't interrupt me.

“You know how women are, right? They're stupid. They need a man to guide them, like you guided Strong Woman into your pants. Women shouldn't have careers anyway, that's why men end them like you did hers.” And the glasses were off. I stared intently, trying to see if his eyes could track my waving hand. They seemed normal. 

The bulging vein in his neck, did not.

“Now listen here, Miss Turner-” 

“Miss is a microaggression. You're a faker. You don't care about being PC at all.” I leaned back in the chair, my feet dangling off of the edge as he turned a deep shade of red. His eyes moved together though, even when he was flustered. 

Eric was lying. No. Eric had lied, because Eric was not a person anymore.

“Heidi, I'm calling your parents to pick you up from school. You're suspended for a week.” Good, it's not like I wanted to stay in this friendless hellhole, anyway. “We had talked about you taking some time for grieving, so it was a shock when you were counted present today.” 

“I don't need to grieve! He didn't even like me anymore! Why should I grieve for someone who wasn't even nice to me? Huh? I don't owe him shit. I don't owe him my grief. Screw you guys, I'm going home!” I rose to my feet, screaming as I leaned over onto his desk. I shoved his tray of papers onto the ground before storming out to wait in the front office.

Eric would have kicked him in the balls.

Eric wouldn't be crying alone in a shitty fabric chair as he waited for his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but probably not very.


	3. Chapter 3

“We ought to take away all of your electronics for this! This is not how a young lady behaves! Cursing at your principal, saying nasty things about your teacher, we are so disappointed in you.” 

There was the buzz word, disappointed. They were disappointed in me. They were disappointed with me. I disappointed them. 

They could never like the person I am now. 

Dating Eric made me someone to be disappointed with and in. 

Killing Eric-

No. 

Eric dying made it acceptable to say out loud. 

I didn't kill that fat fucker. He did that himself. 

“Find my phone at the bottom of the river. Bring back a time machine while you're at it, Mom!” I unbuckled myself from the car, storming inside. 

“Go to your room right this instant! You are grounded!” I slammed the door before she finished yelling. A picture of Eric and I fell onto the ground as the wall shook. We were ice skating. He didn't look very happy to see me. I, foolishly, looked excited to have his arms around my waist. 

By day two of my grounding I was just sitting by my window watching snow melt. Maybe it wasn't even melting. It was probably permafrost by now. 

Water bears could live in permafrost. 

I screamed, throwing myself onto my bed. If I had just judged the stupid Special Ed Science Fair would I still have friends? Did I lose my friends before that? Would Eric have died anyway?

When did everyone leave, anyway? Was it when I quit Twitter? 

Surely not. Wendy still waved to me in the hallways, I was still allowed to go to the committee meetings, even if without context everything seemed strange. 

Was it when I almost found the troll? 

No, Bebe and Tweek helped me bake Danishes For Denmark. We had a good time, didn't we? Bebe was laughing and Tweek put a tablespoon of flour on my head. Bebe said I should get highlights because the white looked good. We had a fun time, or was I the only one enjoying myself?

I used to think I was good with people. 

I don't think that anymore. 

The boys were playing in our yard, dressed up in their cheap costumes. They were staging some kind of fight, mostly just screaming. I went back to my perch by the window to see their fighting. If I heard them talk, maybe it was like they were my friends. Does friendship have those kinds of transitive properties? 

“That's not fair! Nng! I can't use my special attack when we're on separate sides, so how come you have one?” Tweek, or Wonder Tweek shouted, waving his hands frantically in the air.

“Tweek, you're dead, get on the ground.” Kyle said with a kite strapped to his back. And I was a hard person to like? He wouldn't even let Tweek talk standing up and was in a leotard. What a loser. I can't believe he ever tricked me into liking him.

“This is a conspiracy! You are in cahoots! CAHOOTS!” Tweek pulled on his hair, ripping out the sweatband. He stomped off through the snow, leaving the blue band in my bushes. 

“Aw, c-c-c-come on Tweek, that's no fu-fu-fun.” Jimmy was the Flash, not even bothering to make his own character for their game. I wasn't allowed to play. Eric wouldn't let me. A chick would ruin the vibe, he said. I always knew he liked Wendy better than me.

“Chicken! Bagawk! Cluck, cluck, bagawk!” Clyde tucked his fists under his armpits, strutting around, leaving a frantic pattern in the snow. A red funnel slipped off of his nose when he pecked at the ground. 

“Don't be a pussy! You can't quit every time you die, that's not fun for us.” Stan, clad in every tool that his Dad owned, taunted as Tweek started to cross the street. 

“I'm not! It's not fun if Super Craig gets powers and I don't. That's not fair! You're not being fair.” He walked back to the sidewalk, staring at the group. 

“Super Craig says you're being a pussy. You're making this really lame. I thought you were fun.” It was hard to hear Craig's nasally voice through my window. He wasn't yelling, he just looked bored. Tweek looked hurt, ripping the WT off the front of his sweatshirt, crumpling it into a ball. 

I leaned closer as Tweek started hitting Craig in the face. Craig was stunned for a few minutes, then pushed him onto the ground. I guess they were fighting, but it looked pretty gay. 

I wished I had a bucket of popcorn, a Pepsi, and a camera, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is the last thing I'm writing in 2017. I'm sort of blah about it, but I'm accepting that I'll always be comparing myself to everybody else. Just because there's a hundred stories better than mine doesn't mean that this can't be enjoyable in it's own right. 
> 
> Happy New Year


End file.
